


Tenderness in the Tangle

by SassySnowperson



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Action/Adventure, Canon-Typical Violence, Hair Washing, Intimacy, M/M, Post-Canon, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:53:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28890159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SassySnowperson/pseuds/SassySnowperson
Summary: Duo froze, looking at Trowa intently. He didn't—people didn't touch his braid. Not and live to tell the tale.Trowa looked back levelly. He knew. He was still offering.
Relationships: Trowa Barton/Duo Maxwell
Comments: 8
Kudos: 18
Collections: Bulletproof 20/21





	Tenderness in the Tangle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Val_Creative](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/gifts).



> This fic was written for the [Bulletproof 20/21 Exchange](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Bulletproof2021), and it was written around the prompt of "The Intimacy of Brushing/Braiding/Washing Another Person's Hair."
> 
> The fic grew a bit of plot, though, so if you're just in it for the hair washing trope, skip about halfway down - but if you're up for a bit of undercover action and adventure, then dive right in :D

"Usual bonuses," Duo wheedled. He was vaguely aware that wheedling probably wouldn't make much of a difference with this particular conversational partner, but it was still worth a shot. "What do you say?" 

He held his breath as he waited for Trowa's response. 

After three agonizing seconds, Trowa gave a faint sigh. "I'll be there." 

Duo gave his own, louder sigh of relief. "Hey, man, I'm sorry, I know you just got back home, and you haven't had much time to hang with Catherine." He could afford to acknowledge how shitty his request was now that Trowa had already agreed to it. 

"It's…it is what it is." 

Right. Ex-Ozzies with an axe to grind and too many explosives, that sort of shit was always going to be a problem, and as long as they cared about the bloody peace they had somehow failed to die for, it was going to be _their_ problem. If Duo was going undercover as a greasemonky and wait for someone to blow him up, he god damn wanted the best fucking backup in the buisness watching his six. 

"Thanks," was all Duo said instead. Look at that, wonder of wonders, the feral street rat had managed to grow some manners. "See you soon." 

* * *

"Why aren't we infiltrating the gang?" Trowa said, casting an annoyed eye over the mission plan. 

Not that anyone other than Duo would know it was annoyed. Well, maybe Quatre, too. The point was, you had to know Tro to catch these things. "I know man. But this is a tight little group, no recruits except for folks they personally knew during the war. And yes, before you ask, I checked—nobody that would have known your Ozzie alter-ego. However, thanks to some sloppy electronic protocol on their part, we do have their target." 

"Serenade Station," Trowa shuffled the specs and pulled up the ship. 

"Guess they've got something against luxury," Duo said with a bitter little grin. It wasn't the most sensible target, but Duo thought he could understand some of the rage. They had fought and died and for what? So that nice little trust fund babies could wrap themselves up in the sleekest of new luxuries? 

Serenade was an experiment, a private station dedicated to making sure the rich lived in luxury. And not the sort of quiet unassuming luxury hanging with Q got a man. No, this was ostentatious, all gilt-wrapped and glittering. The rich and powerful decided that waging war wasn't lucrative anymore, and wouldn't it be better to spend their money on a station full of nice trinkets? Not on, oh, say, using some of that inherited dough to make life a little better for the man on the street? 

Not that the OZ knockoffs cared about that. They just wanted to piss off the people they thought won the war. And in the process hurt a lot of innocent lives. After all, it wasn't only rich bastards on that colony and the cleaning crew didn't deserve a fiery death. 

Which was where they came in. "It'd be better to get them in transport, I know. But there's too many places the explosives could be coming from. It'd take a team of thirty at least to cover all the options. So we're stuck infiltrating the target." 

"We should just lock the station down with Preventers. That would stop it being such an easy target," was Trowa's assessment. 

"That's what I told Une, and Une told me that station management were being isolationist pricks and not taking the threat seriously, but that doesn't mean we should let them get blown up."

"I don't think the words 'isolationist pricks' left Une's mouth." Trowa arched an eyebrow. 

Duo shrugged. "I may be translating. So, we're undercover. Could be worse, though. We've got a couple contacts in station security that'll back us up if we need it. Station's still trying to get a solid maintenance crew together. Give us an easy in.

Trowa exhaled, slowly, through his nose. He looked up at Duo, his eyes sharp and assessing. There was nothing easy about this sort of work. You didn't try to stop an explosive at its target. You definitely didn't try to do it in semi-hostile territory. That was just begging to get blown up. It wasn't exactly a suicide run, but it was stupid. 

And it was the only viable option. Both of them knew it. "Sure," Trowa said neutrally, turning back to the mission plans. 

* * *

Duo loved to watch Trowa work, even though, he had to admit, it sort of freaked him out. When Duo went undercover, he was always pretty much himself, or at least, pretty much always parts of himself. He smiled, he laughed, he made people like him, he stabbed them in the back for the greater good. Tro, though, Trowa could crawl inside an identity, wrap it around himself so thoroughly even Duo almost had trouble believing it was an act. 

Almost. 

They'd been partnered more and more often since the war. Duo'd been curious, the first time they'd partnered up, if Trowa would actually bother to communicate. Man was even more of a lone wolf than Heero was. But by the end of the war they'd reached an understanding, and it shifted easily into their operative work. Trowa wasn't chatty, but he said enough. 

They were a better fit than just about anyone expected. They were both were comfortable with undercover work. Even more importantly, they both had the knack of really _seeing_ each other, even in deep cover. These days, Duo figured Trowa knew him better than just about anyone else alive. Trowa _got_ him, and he got Trowa right back. 

Put the two of them in the fire, they'd come out with smores. 

This time, Trowa's mask was Trevor Mink, a hard-working, rough-talking mech. He had a little bit of Sweeper slang on his vowels, like he'd done a trip or two on their ships before looking for a place to land planetside. Duo had to admire the artistry.

Duo's cover wasn' nearly so elegant. Max Durnam was just Duo, with the Gundam Pilot turned down, the mechanical gremlin turned up, and Shinigami locked firmly away in a little box until he was needed. It did the trick, he was laughing and working and flirting his way into the work until anyone who asked would say that Max had always been there, rascal that he was.

Duo hung around in the darkened corners of the station's earthside ship dock watching Trevor good-naturedly weather the affections of one of the station's idle rich who were trying to show off their fancy yacht to the handsome mechanic. Trevor ducked his head and blushed a little, while he shrugged in a, "whatever you say," sort of gesture. 

Perfect. Every movement was fucking perfect. 

Duo knew that later he would feel guilty. He got the feeling that now that the war was done, Trowa was trying to figure out who he could be in the sudden peace. It couldn't be good for that fledgling sense of identity to keep getting dragged undercover. But right now he was just in awe of the artistry. 

Grey-green eyes flashed over the shadow Duo was hiding in, and a moment later Trevor gently shook off his wealthy admirer and completely naturally made his way over to pop open an engine hatch a few feet away from Duo. 

Duo wondered if he'd ever figure out how Trowa could see him when nobody else could. (Okay. Maybe Heero. Wufei on a good day. Still.)

"Dock's clear, no new traffic." Trowa said, seemingly to the engine. 

"I've run through the guts of this place three times, haven't found anything yet," Duo answered from the shadows.

Trowa grunted in acknowledgement. Duo waited to see if there was anything else forthcoming. When it was evident there wasn't, he continued, "Nice bit of flash you picked up there. Gonna let him show you _all around_ his yacht? Mix a little business and pleasure?"

Trowa's hand, carefully shielded from the rest of the hangar by his body, curled three fingers and a thumb into his palms, leaving a very pointed middle finger showing.

Duo gave a quiet laugh, just for Trowa, and felt a shiver of contentment run through him at the way the corner of Trowa's lips twitched, before the Trevor mask rolled over his face again.

Trowa didn't break an identity for dumb teasing. He did it for Duo. One of their little communications; yes, I still see you, yes, I'm still in here. Yes, I've got your back.

"Check you later, man," Duo said, and vanished.

* * *

Duo was forcing himself to go slowly on the upgrades to the electrical grid. Normally he could knock something like this out in half an hour with a toothpick and a deck of playing cards, but he was pretty sure it would take Max a bit longer than that. 

"I've got something," a soft voice said next to him. 

Duo was not too proud to admit he jumped. Trowa could fucking _ghost_ when he wanted to. "What's up?" he asked, trying to get his heart rate to calm down. 

Trowa's tiny smile was both infuriating and wonderful. "Fuel tanker came in, something about the crew is off. I think they're former military." 

"Seems like half of humanity is former military at this point," Duo muttered, shoving his long bangs off of his forehead. "Not a lot of safe places to hide explosives on a fuel tanker, though. Don't think they're dumb."

Trowa gave a soft hum. "What if the tanker _is_ the explosive? The fuel hookup for the station is close to the oxygen cycler." 

Duo's eyes widened. "Shit. _Shit_. That would work." If they managed to blow the fuel and it caught the pure oxygen in the cycler, no fancy explosives needed. Spark, boom, done, bye bye station. "Who the _fuck_ lines up fuel and oxygen. You're asking for trouble. Let's move."

Trowa nodded, and they both ghosted toward the fuel hookup. 

The closer they got, the less Duo liked what he saw. Trowa was right, the crew of six that made up the fuel tanker compliment were too on-edge for even former military in a civilian job. Still, they needed evidence, and they couldn't go arresting every slightly twitchy crew that landed here from now til eternity.

Duo ran his tongue over his teeth and considered his options. "I'll distract, you get into the cabin and see if you can find any of those fun toys the very bad boys and girls play with." 

Trowa paused. "Seems like a strange time to be looking for sex toys." 

Duo choked. He shot a sideways glare at Trowa, whose face was impassive, but—Duo _knew_ that Trowa was messing with him. Joking! In the middle of a mission! Duo was clearly infecting his partner with the very best of bad habits. 

"Explosives. Incendiary devices. That sort of thing, get your head out of the gutter," Duo muttered, delighted for once to be playing the straight man. Then he slipped off the catwalk they were perched on and waltzed into the hangar. 

"'Ey!" He called loudly, jogging over. "You're early! No, stop, agh—don't hook that fuel line up, we're in the middle of a fucking maintenance cycle!" 

With a certain amount of malicious glee, Duo set about being the biggest nuisance possible for the fuel crew. He sent a mental apology over if they actually were innocent, but hey, at least they'd get a good story out of it. He stalled their refueling, called out to imaginary fellow-workers, chatted leisurely with them about his work shift, and invited them to take a break in the cafeteria, they'd be done soon. Call it two hours? Have a long lunch! 

The men got more and more irritated, refusing to leave the tanker, and Duo got more and more certain that something is wrong. 

_Hurry up, Trowa,_ he mentally threw Trowa's direction.

Two seconds later there were shouts of alarm from the cockpit of the fuel tanker, a gunshot, and a scream. The crew responded by immediately pulling out silenced pistols from under their jackets, definitely _not_ standard crewing attire, and that was all Duo needed to drop the act. 

He rammed into one, catching him off-guard. They hadn't even considered him a threat, up until that point. Duo used the advantage, taking one, then another, quickly out of the fight. He angled his attack to work his way closer to the cockpit. 

Duo was ninety-five percent certain that anyone getting shot and screaming was _not Trowa_. Even if he had gotten shot, Duo didn't think he was the screaming type. Still, the five percent of him that worried would like to put eyes on him, make sure he was okay. 

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he watched one of the terrorists (he felt safe using the word at this point) go for the fuel line, something glinting strangely in his hand, and he realized he had more important considerations. Trusting Trowa to take care of himself, he pivoted, tackling him from behind. 

The man jerked, but kept his hand on the fuel line, Duo gave an inelegant lurch forward and threw his weight against the arm that had glinted, his concern clenching and turning to certain rage when he realized the man was holding a small accelerant igniter. That was that, then. They were planning on blowing up the station. 

Duo wheeled around, fighting dirty. It was the only way for someone who wanted to stay alive to fight. His foot crashed into the man's knee, and with a sick crack it bent underneath him. Duo lunged, frantically scrambling to get his hands around the igniter, and the man pivoted and struck with his free hand. 

Fortunately or unfortunately, Duo wasn't prepared to judge in the moment, the man's other hand wasn't holding a weapon. It was holding a fuel line. Duo got a face full of chemical-reeking liquid. The man probably expected that to make Duo stumble back. Unfortunately for him, Duo's survival instincts all landed firmly on 'attack' rather than 'defense'. Blinded, Duo wrenched hard on the arm he was still holding, and dragged the man down while his knee went up. More fuel coated his chest and legs as the man fell, and Duo kneed him hard enough to snap ribs. 

Duo wrenched the accelerant ignitor away and finally retreated, starting to feel dizzy and suffocated. He exhaled hard, trying to clear his nose and mouth without giving into a coughing fit. He was blinded, too, and most of his body was covered in fuel. His right arm still seemed dry, so he swiped it over his eyes, trying to get them open. 

"Fuck," he heard Trowa snarl, and then slim, sure hands grabbed him. Even singing with adrenaline, Duo didn't fight the hold. He knew the hands, knew they were Trowa's, and if Trowa needed him moved, he'd move. 

Trowa pivoted and flung Duo around and away from the shuttle. As he stumbled back, Duo finally managed to get his eyes open, just in time for a wave of heat to hit him. One of the motherfuckers actually had a _flamethrower_ and— 

Duo froze for a moment, his entire mind overtaken by the thought of his very flammable self, and then his eyes locked on Trowa, glaring at him with a fierce determination, backlit by flames, Duo's own guardian angel, throwing him free of the fire. 

He was so fucking beautiful. 

Trowa's voice was still dead calm when he said, "You take ranged," and threw Duo his pistol. 

Duo gave a shaky laugh, and then watched as Trowa pivoted and recklessly charged the fuel tanker crew, trusting Duo entirely with his defense. Duo took out flamethrower guy first. Sometimes vengeance was just sound tactical strategy. 

It didn't take long after that to finish off the remaining crew. Four killed, two disabled. Duo surveyed the damage and sighed. "I think I should call our people in station security."

Trowa looked around, and Duo followed his gaze from the puddle of fuel, to the dead bodies, to the groaning live terrorists, to the flamethrower. "Might be a good call," he agreed. 

Nichelle, a permanently exhausted former White Fang officer, looked around the mess with a growing scowl. "God damn it. I told those idiots to take the threat seriously." She looked up at Duo. "We've got to get you out of here. Serenade station security is just going to arrest anyone around here, and I trust you can imagine what a political clusterfuck that will be with the Preventers."

"The Preventers need to be brought in. Officially," Trowa said. "This isn't the sort of thing that can be swept under the rug." 

"I'll bring them in," Nichelle said, sounding tired. "But I'd rather not do it with the two of you in our cellblock." 

Duo looked down at his drenched and flammable clothes. "I don't suppose we have time for a quick change?" 

"No," Trowa and Nichelle said in unison. They did, at least, sound sympathetic about it. 

"There's a cargo freighter leaving now. I know the captain, she'll smuggle you out. Come on, let's go." 

* * *

Captain Vinrash wasn't pleased to have sudden secret passengers, but she did find space in an unused mech repair bay for Duo and Trowa to stay in. "Stay away from fire," was her advice when Duo asked her what could be done about his clothes. 

The room itself was a dismal space, stark metal walls with a toolkit on one side and a low, deep sink with one little mechanic's stool next to it. The rest was empty space and old oil stains. Duo shivered. At least it wasn't a long trip to the L2 cluster. 

Captain Vinrash showed no hesitation at leaving them both shut in the repair bay, and she turned and left, grumbling about pre-flight checks. Trowa waited until she was out the room and looked at Duo. "I'll go steal you some clean clothes." 

"You're a _lifesaver_ ," Duo said emphatically, before laughing to himself at just how literal it was. When Trowa ghosted out of the room, Duo started carefully stripping off the sodden shirt and jeans he had been wearing when it all went down. He made it as far as getting his shirt off, before his braid smacked his back with a wet _splat_ along his spine. 

Duo wrinkled his nose. He hadn't realized how much gunk he'd gotten on his hair. He grabbed his shirt, looked dubiously for clean patches, and tried to squeeze out all the fuel he could. 

That was how Trowa found him, when he slipped back into the room holding a pair of maintenance coveralls. "Ah," he said, when he noticed Duo's dilemma. 

"Yeah. My hair is filthy. Should have had you steal me a towel." 

Trowa gave a thoughtful hum and looked over to the deep sink. "Rinse it?" 

Duo wrinkled his nose as he considered the low basin. "Don't think I'm quite that flexible, Tro." He thought about it for a second, then sighed. "I guess I can get the ends, at least. Probably a good idea to be more wet and less flammable." 

"If you sit, and lean your head back, I can help rinse." 

Duo froze, looking at Trowa intently. He didn't—people didn't touch his braid. Not and live to tell the tale. 

Trowa looked back levelly. He knew. He was still offering. "Even without taking it out of the braid," he added almost gently, like he thought Duo was about to bolt, "it would still help." 

"Right," Duo said slowly. It would help, and he didn't want to put on the fresh clothes until he was reasonably sure his hair wouldn't just make them filthy again. 

And, come _on_ was he really going to let _Trowa_ win the comfort-with-emotional-intimacy game? No. 

"Sounds good." Duo tried to keep his voice calm and casual. Completely normal interaction here. Just a guy helping his buddy out with some hair trouble. No problem. 

Duo slowly walked over to the sink and sat in front of it. He picked up his braid and dumped it in the basin, leaning his head back until the lip of the sink pressed against the base of his skull, cold and uncomfortable. 

Trowa came over, and turned the water on. Just a trickle, and he used his hand to keep it away from Duo's hair. What was he up to? Why wasn't he just...getting it over with? 

Duo realized what was happening when the warm steam started to rise up from the bottom of the basin. Trowa turned up the water, and his fingers brushed against the back of Duo's hair, encouraging Duo back into the spray. 

Duo fought a shudder as the warm water started to run over the back of his head, as Trowa gently and deftly ran his hands down Duo's braid, squeezing to wring the fuel out. He had never thought that he was particularly shy in the touchy-feely department, especially not as compared to his fellow-pilots. But his brain didn't know what to _do_ with this. 

It wasn't a hug or a dance or handshake, it wasn't anything reciprocal. It was sitting back and letting someone else take care of him. It was sort of like getting an injury seen too, and sort of like getting a blowjob. Logically, he knew it wasn't either of those things, but physically, his body wasn't sure how to respond. His instincts were swinging between trying to curl up defensively and popping an erection.

Duo held very still as one of Trowa's hands found the nape of his neck, gently nudging him to tilt his head back into the spray. Trowa's other hand made a cup along his forehead, keeping the spray out of his eyes. 

Duo kept his eyes shut. Even if Trowa was guarding them from the spray, the far bigger danger was whatever the expression was on Trowa's face at the moment. If he looked like he cared, if he didn't—Duo didn't even know which he wanted. It was better not to know. 

Trowa was his partner, he was the person Duo wanted watching his back, and he was also so fucking beautiful Duo could cry. Duo had gotten pretty good at ignoring that last one over the years—very obvious during the war that the only person Tro might drop his pants for was Quatre, and even then, not fucking likely. After, when they started working together, the friendship seemed more important. Duo had never bothered to reassess the situation, and now he was wondering if maybe he should have, before _now_.

"Okay," Trowa said, his voice not giving away any inflection as his hands (warm, firm, every sensation heightened because Duo was keeping his eyes shut) moved Duo's head out from under the spray again. "I think that's as much as I can do while keeping your hair in the braid."

"Go ahead and take it out," Duo's mouth said, not bothering to consult with mind. Duo froze, fighting his immediate instinct to sit up and laugh the words off. He felt Trowa's hands stiffen against his head. But Trowa didn't pull back. 

Washing someone's hair. It was a small thing. But they were men who saw the small things, who understood how important they were. If Duo didn't pull back, whatever happened, it would change who they were to each other. It might be safer to retreat. 

On the other hand, he and Trowa had been getting closer and closer, and Duo had the feeling they had been dancing on the edge of _something_. Images flashed through his mind: Trowa, looking at a pisser of a battle plan and deciding he was in. Trowa, looking triumphant and determined while limed in the light of a flamethrower. Trowa, smiling just a little, breaking his cover to let Duo know he was still there. 

Duo took a breath and decided to be brave.

He slowly opened his eyes. Above him, Trowa was looking down. His gaze was steady, and his face was damn near unreadable. Near unreadable, not totally. Duo _knew_ him. He could see the slight raise to Trowa's eyebrows—surprised, curious. He could see the fractional widening of Trowa's pupils—interested…or possibly worried.

"If you don't mind," Duo said, slowly, giving Trowa an out. 

Trowa's thumb shifted on the back of Duo's skull. Trowa deliberately slid it down Duo's neck, and Duo felt his entire body break out in goosebumps. It wasn't because of the cold, and both of them knew it. Trowa stroked his thumb back up, finally settling it in the sensitive hollow where Duo's jaw met his ear. 

Duo didn't bother to hide the way his breathing went uneven.

Trowa broke, and gave a shaky exhale. "Okay," he said, his voice rougher than Duo had expected it to be. 

Duo breath started coming more shallowly as Trowa's hands moved to the base of his braid and started picking at the band. It wasn't—people had seen Duo with his hair down. But. Like clothes. It was one thing to have someone walk in on you, naked and fresh from the shower. You laugh, you're a little embarrassed, you move on. 

Very different from telling someone to go ahead, and then feeling their hands unbuttoning your jeans, sliding them past your hips. 

Trowa's hands were gentle as he started working. Gentler than Duo expected, maybe even gentler than he wanted. He only felt slight the slightest shifting of hair as Trowa played with the end of his braid. Duo was too used to doing his own hair to be delicate with it. He tended to go for the pull-fingers-through-and-yank method. Trowa, though, Duo should have known Trowa would be meticulous. Duo felt the pressure against his hair lessen as the braid unravelled. He exhaled—part nerves, part simple pleasure of feeling his hair fall loose. 

Trowa stepped back and Duo heard him rummaging around behind the sink. He came back holding some mechanic's degreasing hand soap. 

"How is this going to be for hair?" Trowa asked, holding the bottle out. 

Duo wrinkled his nose, but decided, "Not great, but not worse than the fuel. Go for it." 

Trowa nodded, and stepped back next to the sink again. He pulled at the back of Duo's head, and Duo let himself be guided back under the spray of water. 

Trowa's fingers started along his scalp, massaging the soap into the warm water. Duo's eyes fell shut and even though the whole circumstance was _vulnerable_ and _strange_ and _terrifying_ in a way that threw his brain into high alert, he found himself relaxing. He knew, on a very fundamental level, that he was safe. Safe with Trowa around, safe in Trowa's hands. He could let his guard down and let someone else take care of him. 

Duo took a deep breath, and consciously relaxed into the touch. 

As Trowa worked away from Duo's scalp, down the loose hair no longer held by the braid, he tried to stay gentle. It was a loosing battle with the mass of Duo's hair. Eventually, his fingers found a a snag that pulled Duo's head back. Duo startled, and his eyes flew open again.

Trowa hissed in frustration. "Sorry." 

"It's fine," Duo was quick to reassure him. He made a show of relaxing back down again. "The hair's a beast. I've got a tough skull, you don't need to be gentle." He thought about throwing in a line or two about how he sometimes enjoyed people tugging on his hair, _if you know what I mean_. But considering he was laying about half-naked and letting someone else put their hands in his hair, it didn't seem like the right sort of time to be making sexual jokes. It all felt too close. 

_How do you get yourself into these situations, Duo?_ he asked himself rhetorically. Not that he had ever been in a situation like this one before. He hadn't—he hadn't trusted anyone enough for this in a long, long time. 

"Why do you keep it long?" Trowa asked as he worked his hands through Duo's hair, still careful despite Duo's instructions. 

"Uh," was all Duo managed. That was personal, but he didn't mind Trowa knowing. The real surprise was that Trowa _asked_. Revealing curiosity was a vulnerability in its own right, and the shock of Trowa allowing that knocked the words right out of them. 

"Don't share if you don't want to," Trowa said after a moment. "It's fine." 

"No, no," Duo said quickly. He cleared his throat. "It's just…you know I run my mouth, but for all that, there's some shit that's hard to talk about. It gets stuck." 

Trowa chuckled. "I know the feeling. It's just…everything, for me." 

"Yeah. We've both got our masks," Duo said, announcing something he had long believed but never really thought he'd share out loud. "Everything's locked down, with yours. Mine's all about distraction." 

Trowa gave a short hum of affirmation. 

"But, hair, yeah. Uh, I can't remember how much I've told you, but my childhood was pretty fucked up, even before I became a war criminal. But there was a couple people, they…they cared. About what happened to gutter trash orphans like me. They took me in, gave me a home for a little while. They did my hair in the braid." Duo swallowed, squeezing his eyes shut again as the the past roared up and reminding him of all he had lost. "They died. And I was on my own again. But they cared, and they did my hair, and that _mattered_." Duo growled the last word, more passionate than he had meant to be. 

Trowa's hand shifted, until he was cradling the back of Duo's skull again. Duo expected Trowa to move him into or out of the spray, but he didn't, and just stayed there, cupping Duo's head in his sure, steady hands. 

Comfort. No other reason. 

Duo pushed his head back against Trowa's hand, a silent acknowledgement of the gesture. 

Trowa returned to the hair washing and didn't press him further. Duo was grateful for the pause, and took some time to gently push his past back into his past. 

"Alright, I think that does it," Trowa said. "Not getting better without a real shower." He turned off the water and started wringing Duo's hair out. Duo was vaguely aware that he should probably sit up and take back over, but he was reluctant to break this surreal zone of intimacy they had found themselves in. 

Apparently, Trowa felt the same. He seemed to linger over Duo's hair, brushing and squeezing long after most of the water was out. 

"I've always liked your hair," Trowa said, breaking the comfortable silence. "I thought it was a terrible tactical decision, of course. Too much hassle, too easy to grab, too identifiable. But I liked that there was someone who could do what we did, and keep so much of themselves. I was always glad to see it, even if I didn't know why." 

Duo's chest burned with a giddy euphoria, like he was six drinks in and making bad decisions. That's what this whole thing felt like, adrenaline and intimacy and lowered boundaries. It was that feeling, that space, that let him say in return, "I've always loved watching you work. Same thing from the different direction, I think. I've never seen someone lose so much of themselves and still stay you." 

Trowa's hands were working near the ends of Duo's hair but he stilled when Duo spoke. Duo opened his eyes to find Trowa giving him a serious look. Duo couldn't read it, but this whole situation was flayed-open-honesty and he was willing to bet that anything he couldn't read, it was because Trowa didn't know what he was feeling either. 

Duo licked his lips, and hoped that this hadn't fucked up their whole partnership. "I still love watching you work," he said, letting Trowa read his honest, wide-open body language. "It's why I keep calling you. I trust you." 

Trowa reached up and brushed at Duo's wet bangs, combing them back away from Duo's eyes in an almost idle gesture of affection. "I know." 

Then his thumb paused, and it traced the arch of Duo's eyebrow, along the hollow of his temple, until his hand was cupping Duo's cheek. 

With that little gesture, the convenient excuse of haircare was blown away, and it was just him and Trowa, touching. Duo's heart started pounding, his skin flushed, and knew that Trowa could trace the pink heat of his blushing skin down his chest. The certain knowledge of his transparency just fueled the reaction even more, heat collecting in his belly and twisting between his legs. 

Trowa was—Trowa could—this whole thing had been them flirting with all the lines they'd drawn between themselves and the world. Letting each other into places so secret, nobody else had seen. If Trowa wanted, Duo was laid out and vulnerable and he could just take— 

"Why do you think I keep saying yes?" Trowa said, soft and low. But he didn't lean in, and instead he _pulled his hand away_ , leaving Duo with nothing but a tiny smile as a consolation prize. 

Duo sat there, his chest still heaving, staring at Trowa in indignant disbelief. Why had he pulled back? Just some power play to show how he could break through anyone's defenses, even Duo's? 

That didn't feel right. And as Duo breathed slowly, the details of their situation reasserted themselves. They were in a publicly accessible hangar bay, Duo was still half-covered in fuel, and the only remotely comfortable piece of furniture was the metallic stool that Duo was sitting on. 

Trowa must have decided that this wasn't exactly an ideal situation to go much further on the intimacy front. 

Well, too bad. 

Duo stood up, letting his damp hair fall loose around his shoulders and turned towards Trowa. He made no attempt to hide his hungry intention, the ravenous wanting whole of him as he took one deliberate step toward Trowa. 

_Last chance to disengage, Heavyarms._

Trowa's eyes went dark, and he took a little half-step forward, reaching for Duo again. His hands found Duo's waist, Duo's wound around his shoulders, and then they were kissing, and everything else be damned. 

They fell into each other, slotted together surely. Duo knew Trowa's body the way a blade knew honing steel, the way a bullet knew a barrel, the way explosives knew a detonator. They went together, they sharpened each other. Neither of them were anything kind or nice or soft by nature, but they fit together, they burned together. 

Trowa's hands started traveling, from Duo's waist, to his shoulders, to his jaw. "Can I…?" he asked, fingertips just teasing the edge of Duo's hairline. 

"Please," Duo whispered, the words coming out like a prayer. 

Trowa slid his hands back into Duo's loose hair, a firm grip he used to guide Duo's head back, to take advantage of the few inches he had over Duo's frame, kissing Duo deeply. It should have felt like a trap, it should have triggered every fight or flight reflex Duo had. But it didn't. Trowa watched his back, Trowa saved him, Trowa tangled his fingers up in Duo's hair like they belonged. 

The purr of the engines shifted, a subtle re-alignment, and Duo and Trowa broke apart. They both knew what was happening, the slowdown and shift as the ship aligned itself with the dock, ready to begin landing. They'd both get off here, and then go their separate ways, finding their own way home. 

"Stay with me on L2 for a bit?" Duo asked, and was proud of himself for the way it didn't sound too desperate. "It'll be easier to draft our reports if we work together." 

"Reports," Trowa said—clearly, his tone was intended to be dry and sarcastic, but the effect was somewhat ruined by the breathless hitch to his words. 

Duo grinned, and after a pause, Trowa nodded his assent. 

Then Trowa offered his hand out to Duo. Duo paused, confused, before he realized the hair tie was wrapped around his wrist. Duo reached forward and took it off, making sure his fingers trailed lightly over the delicate skin of Trowa's inner wrist. He took joy in the way Trowa's lips parted, leaning in toward Duo, just a little. 

Duo gave his hair a quick rough finger-comb (Trowa hadn't manage to undo all his work with that kiss, but it had gotten a little messy) and then in a practiced gesture plaited it back into his signature braid. He noticed the way Trowa's eyes stayed fixed on his hands. Duo hoped he was imagining what else they could do. 

"I feel like this conversation isn't finished yet," Duo said, as he tied off the end of his braid and flicked it over his shoulder. 

"It's not," Trowa agreed, his voice low. He reached out and ran his fingers over Duo's lips, confident that his touch would be welcome. It was one of the sexiest fucking things Duo had ever experienced, until Trowa continued. "But you smell like a fuel depot on a summer day, I think the rest of our _conversation_ can wait until then." 

"Rude!" Duo said with a delighted laugh. 

"Get changed," Trowa ordered, nodding toward the coveralls he had brought in what felt like a lifetime ago. "After all this it'd be anticlimactic if you lit yourself on fire."

Duo stared at Trowa, knowing the advice was the logical thing to do, but still unwilling to draw himself away. 

Trowa caught his look, and gave Duo one of his tiny smiles. _Trust me,_ it said, as Trowa added, aloud, "I'm not going anywhere." 

"Good," Duo said, and stole one more quick kiss before turning to sort out his clothes. 


End file.
